


21st Century Super-Man

by DCRedux



Category: DC Elseworlds, DCU, DCU (Comics), Smallville, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman: The Animated Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7547083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCRedux/pseuds/DCRedux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to Metropolis. A city where the 1% run rampant in suits, shows, and social media. Superpowered alien Clark Kent/Kal-El has come to the big city to make a difference, setting up a non-profit organisation that helps the people and works against tyrants like Lex Luthor… and he’s bringing his dumb friends from Smallville, Kansas with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**#tbt**

**A DC Redux joint**

**Starring CKentDailyStar**

**Typed up by Joey West**

* * *

**Prologue:**

**21st December 2014**

**Rog's Hair-Place, Suicide Slum, Metropolis**

This place wasn't always called Suicide Slum. This place used to be prosperous. This place used to be a community. They used to call it Southside. During the 30s and 40s, the town was a safe haven for immigrants and refugees escaping from the tyranny of Nazi Germany, a sign of hope for people who had seen the worst humanity could be. They found work. They found love. They found home. Solace. Peace.

Eventually, like all great places, it fell. It fell into poverty. Into violence. "Suicide Slum" became its unofficial name during the AIDS scare of the 1980s. Needles that were given to a project in the town trying to help heroin addicts were infected with the disease. The suicide rate skyrocketed in that year, an unknown graffiti artist then tagging over the "Welcome to Southcide" sign which stands at the edge of town, creating the nickname that has stuck for over thirty years.

Amongst all of the poverty and depression, a Barbershop called "Rog's Hair-Place" still stands on Roarke Street. It's been around since the 40s, a business founded by a family of Polish immigrants. Handed down through generations, it's now in the hands of Roger Slevitch III. A plump 50-something year old man with an unbreakable spirit, a strong moral resolve and an obviously fake head of brown hair. He's Cassie Andrews's boss.

It was a slow day in December. Cassie had just started her shift at ten o'clock in the morning. Then eleven. Twelve. One. No customers. Roger was out ordering supplies. Jess was on maternity leave. Tommy was dead. It was just her, the mirrors, the various combs, brushes and gels lying around and the giant pile of hair Jess forgot to clean up yesterday afternoon. As the hours went by without any customers, she was about to close up shop until a regular entered.

She'd seen him before. Roger or Jess had always cut his long, ginger hair. He didn't look like he belonged in this place, his clothes were designer, he was completely fresh faced. His watch was probably worth a couple million dollars. He didn't speak much to the others but that day he was very talkative. Cassie liked the company. He seemed like he hadn't really spoken to anyone in a while either. He made fun of her 1999 Nokia "brick", she made fun of his taste in fashion. Once she was done, he paid her and was about to go on his way until quickly turning around and asking her, "Do you know who I am?"

"No." She replied. "No. I don't."

And then… he simply left. A smile and wink and he was gone.

* * *

**2016, A Thursday in January**

**Ross Corn Farm, Smallville**

Knock. Knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

A young man with ruffled and messy black hair stands at the door of the Ross Family Home, leaving a snail trail of chipped and charred pavement behind him- which leads off to an accidentally made crop circle in a field of corn. The boy wears a red and brown plaid shirt, blue jeans and converse sneakers. Mud and dirt cover his cuffs, his right shoe lets off a bit of smoke and his face streams in sweat. Quietly, he whispers "Come on. Come on," under his breath.

The door opens. A friendly looking middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. "Hey, Clark. How're things going in Metro-"

"I gotta talk to Pete, Mrs. R. Sorry." He cuts her off, rushing past her at literal lightning speed, a kamikaze of air and wind hitting Mrs. Ross and almost knocking her off her feet until Clark catches her with his super-speed before she falls. "So sorry."

Within a millisecond Clark is already upstairs, sitting across from his high school best friend, catching him by surprise as he lifts his arms up in self-defence. "AGGGHHH-"

"It's me, silly."

"-HHHHHHAAGGH!" He takes a very, very deep breath. "Dude. You just cannot do those kinds of things. You'll give a guy a heart attack." Pete rubs his face. "What're you doing b-"

"Shut up." Clark interrupts. "I got a story to tell. I had a moment of reckoning. A revelation. And I need you to do me a favour."

"Okay-" Pete sighs, "What'd that be?"

"Call Lana and get her over here."

"Yeah no." He quickly snaps back "I ain't gonna be a part of that again. Uh uh. No way. Do you know how awkward it was sitting there in the back seat during a two-hour drive while you two were tearing each others' hearts out? God. Never again. I get nightmares, Kent."

"Please, Pete. Pleaaaase." Clark gets on his knees. "Literally begging you right now, buddy."

"No. She even told you not to talk to her after you decided to become dark and brooding vigil-"

"Pete."

"-ante and to be honest, I'm still not sure if I'm haaa-

"Pete. I was wrong."

"-ppy about that." Pete takes a second to process what Clark just said, "Wait a minute. Incorruptible, infallible Clark Kent admits he was wrong?"

"Call her."

"Gladly." Pete pulls his iPhone 3GS out, chuckling. "Wouldn't miss this for the world."

* * *

**Later.**

"What the actual f*** do you want?" Lana sits on Pete's bed, Clark standing over the both of them. Kent zones out for a minute, giving himself a second to admire her again. Her beautiful, shimmering red hair. Her bright blue eyes, even when she's angry they capture him. Cupid's arrow sticks out of his chest. Hearts grow around her face.

"Is he having a stroke?" Lana angrily asks, pointing at the dumb, loving expression on Clark's face. She turns to her side, Pete bashing his fingers against a touchscreen, not paying attention. "Hey. Moron."

"Sorry." Clark regains focus. "Erm- I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was too wrapped up in myself. I was an idiot for pushing both of you away. Especially you, Lana."

"So we're playing favourites here, huh?" Pete says, his head bouncing back up. "Fine, "Bullet", apology not accepted."

"You're such an idiot." Lana utters, looking down.

"Look. I got a story to tell. Let me tell you my story, yeah?"

"Be quick."

"So I'd just settled into the hotel. I was looking for an apartment down in the North end…"

"I said be quick."

"Lana." Pete stops her. "Let him talk. This man's finally admitting how much of a dick he's been… after MONTHS of being a self involved jackass. Come on. He owes us this."

Lana sighs, "Go ahead."

* * *

**A week ago**

**Upper Hotel, Northern Metropolis**

"The hotel's really nice, Mr. Taylor. It's got a lovely view… room service… everything. I'm settling in quite well….. I like it up here. The people. The architecture. I'm gonna start looking for apartments up here soon." Clark smiles as he speaks into his phone, Editor George Taylor of the Daily Star on the other end. "Yeah. I'll be sure not to head down there. Or look for one down there. Just generally stay away from "down there", ya know? You take care. Goodnight." He throws the old Motorola flip-phone onto the couch, stepping up to the massive window that allows him to look down on the city. A web of buildings is laid down in front of him, the city shrouded in darkness except for a large collection of boxed up specs of light.

Clark removes his glasses. Widens his ears. Closes his eyes. An alarm bell. A local department store. The screaming. The screeching. The gunfire. The madness. Yes. This is why he's here. He rips his shirt open, revealing black Kevlar. He puts a blank black mask over his head. Two eye-holes. No mouth hole. Complete darkness covers his face with the exception of two blood red pupils.

Creek.

The window opens, Kent standing at the edge. His toes lift the rest of his body up, his hands going to his sides, he leans forward and then drops. A thousand nuclear bombs made of air hit his face, Kent's posture changing into a spreadeagled position as he falls, a gravitational field circling around and consuming him, a collection of dust beginning to float around his feet and hands. His body propels forward into the sky, the masked and armoured farm boy flying like a jet-plane.

Like a battering ram, the boy smashes through the dark, smoggy grey clouds and into the city. It's beautiful. Or has the potential to be. He veers his right side down, heading to the Department Store in the northwest corner of the city.

* * *

**2016, A Thursday in January**

**Ross Corn Farm, Smallville**

"Wait. Wait. Wait. Department store?" Pete breaks in, "So your mom was completely right in being worried about you."

"No. Look. I'm getting to that."

"No. No. No. No. I had your mom over here scared out of her mind about you. You're not glossing over that!"

"I'm not gonna!"

"Have you apologised to her? Have you even spoken to her!?" Pete shouts.

Clark pauses. Pete gives him a confused and outraged expression.

"Urgh. You complete dumbass!" Lana groans.

"Pete. I need you to do me a favour. Please."

Pete's face slams into his palms, he pulls out his phone once more and dials up a number.

"You can just look into your contac-"

Ross gives him a dead stare.

* * *

**Later**

A woman in her mid-40s sits between her son's two best friends on Pete's bed. She looks around the room, instantly noticing the dirty pile of clothes on the floor, the empty, greasy pizza box sitting on the kid's desk and dog's hair littering the room. Clark breaks the ice. "Mom. Hi. How's it going?"

"Aw. It's all good. I'm glad you're home, son. I you'd told me, I'd have set up your room."

Clark gives her a loving smile, "Aw. Really? You don't need to do that, Mom."

"It's no trouble, sweetie."

Lana gets in the way of their little moment, "Erm. Miss Kent. Martha. Clark has a story to tell. And an apology."

"Yes. I was wondering why y'all dragged me here. But an apology for what, dear?" Martha enquires.

"I scared the life out of you last week. And it's not just that. It's other things. Just, please. Let me tell you what happened."

* * *

**A week ago**

**LL Department Store, Northwest Metropolis**

Five men dressed in boiler suits march up and down the ground floor of LL Department Store armed with shotguns, one holding a semi-automatic rifle. Fear spreads around the room like wildfire, the whimpers and cries of the hostages they've kidnapped echoing throughout the room. Black socks cover their faces, scarves wrap around their necks and red gloves coat their hands. One heads to the elevator, "I'm gonna go check up on the others."

"Gotcha." Another shouts. He puts his shotgun in his armpit, pulling out a cigarette, lifting his sock up and planting it in his mouth. He turns to another, "How long till the cops get here?"

The other stares down at a watch, "About two minutes, give or take." He looks up, "Come on, buddy, don't smoke in here, everyone's air, man."

"Ugh. Fine." He puts the cigarette back into the case, removing his shotgun from between his armpits.

His "buddy" catches a young girl in the corner of her eye, she couldn't be more than sixteen-years-old. Tears stream down her face as she crouches down in a corner. He rushes to her.

"Hey. We're not gonna hurt no one. We just want the big man and then we're outta here. Don't worry."

"Get away from her."

"She's only a kid. Just like C- you know who." He retorts.

"I know her. Katie Lord. Her family's got a reality show. It's all they play on ETV. You know how much they make a year? More than you'll ever make in two lifetimes. She's just another Lex Luthor."

"But-" Sirens are heard in the distance. "Okay. They're here."

"Well paint the damn message on the window."

The other does a slight jog over to the large, thick glass window, pulling a can of spray paint from his bag. He begins to spray a message in backwards type, it spells, "We want Luth-"

BANG.

He stops.

Lights out.

BRAKABRAKABRAKABRAKABRAKA.

"Hell is going on up there!?"

A whisper from above, "I want you to tell them my name."

SMASH! A massive man-sized hole is created in the ceiling, the edges of it smoking with fire. On the ground below it lays one of the thugs, "The-th-Bullet's here…"

"Who the f*** is the Bullet!?"

"Alright. Forget this. To the car. Now!" The leader of the group shouts.

"What about the guys!?"

"Just hope they don't rat on us, alright?" He looks up to the hole in the ceiling. "We're sorry, alright!?" He pauses for a second, a sound growing louder and louder. "You hear that? Sounds like a…"

"Like a phone."

"Crap." A voice comes from the dark. One of the men turns to his side, noticing two bright blood red eyes hanging in the blackness. He screams, quickly maneuvering his arms and shotgun up and shooting Clark Kent, the Bullet, in the face.

Kent groans in pain, rolling around on the floor. He swiftly gets to his feet and hides behind cover, his phone still ringing in his pocket, sounding off his location to the armed thugs. A monsoon of gunfire. Clark pulls his phone out, it says "Mom Calling". He presses the decline button. It goes silent for a second. The phone begins to ring again. "Aw Christ. FINE!"

"Hey, sweetie, I know we had a bit of a falling out before you left but I thought we could put all of that behind us and-" Martha Kent laughs.

"MA! NOW IS NOT A GOOD TIME!" The Kansas boy screeches at the top of his lungs.

His mother's tone changes. "Son, what is that sound!?" She stops for a second. "Is that gunfire!?"

"NO! GOD! I. I GOTTA GO!" He puts the phone down.

* * *

**2016, A Thursday in January**

**Ross Corn Farm, Smallville**

THWACK!

Clark receives a slap in the face that is harder and more draining than any shotgun blast ever could be. His mother stares into his eyes, "So it WAS gunfire, huh?" She puts her finger in his face, "Don't you dare ever do that to me again."

"I'm sorry, Ma." He responds. "I'm really, really, really sorry."

Mrs. Kent sits back down. "I know you are." She continues, "And you owe your father an apology too- and Pete here."

Clark looks to Pete, who is trying his hardest not to burst into laughter, "Sorry buddy."

"It's ok-" He chuckles. "It's ok it's okay. I forgive you."

"Moving on."

"That's not the end of the story?" Pete asks.

"Not even close, Petey."

* * *

**A week ago**

**LL Department Store, Northwest Metropolis**

Clark Kent, the Bullet, feels around his face area. Just a little blood. A few scratches. The mask is completely destroyed and torn away. He reaches into his breast pocket, pulling a spare one out and ripping his old one off. Kent yanks the new one over his head, his eyes begin to grow red again and he springs out of cover. Slipping through thousands of piece of shotgun rounds and the notice of the thugs, he deals four freight-train sized punches to them, his movement generating a great blast of wind every time. He leaves one standing. The thug fires a round at his chest, most of the shards being caught by his Kevlar. Clark lifts him by his neck, his eyes becoming brighter. "Who wants Luthor dead!?"

"Please… please… please." The man squirms in his arms. "I'll tell you anything. Just don't hurt me."

"Who wants Luthor dead!? I'm not gonna ask you again, punk!"

"Okay. Okay. There's a house down in Southside. I'll take you there. I… we'll explain everything." The Bullet gives him a blank, dead stare, "PLEASE! Please. Just… just give me a chance to explain!" The man almost breaks down into tears, pulling off his mask and panting as Clark releases him. Clark's eyes turn from red to blue, looking down on the man.

"Sir. Sir, are you alright?"

"Yeah. I… I just… I'll explain…"

* * *

**2016, A Thursday in January**

**Ross Corn Farm, Smallville**

"The guy just started… crying?" Pete asks, Clark nodding. "Just… bawling his eyes out?"

"And five minutes before he was just some faceless thug I thought I needed to take out. A criminal. He was- faceless." Clark sighs.

"So… what happened next, dear?" Martha asks, Lana opting not to say anything.

"Well. We walked all the way to Suicide Slum… or Southside, rather. My editor told me not to head down there. I'd heard of it in the news, I'd… well. We've all seen it. It's not got too good of a reputation. And we just walked. Straight through. It wasn't the evil I thought I was gonna fight when I arrived in Metropolis and put on that dumb, dumb costume… it was desperation." Clark pauses for a second. "We walked until we reached a house right on the edge of town."

* * *

**A week ago**

**The Andrews Household Southside, Metropolis**

"Well. Here's home, guy." The man looks at Clark.

"Erm. Thanks. But you haven't given me any answers." Clark says, trying to be threatening but failing terribly.

"Come in, I'll introduce you to the family. Your voice… you don't sound like you're from around here. 'Help you get to know the locals." The man speaks, his tone becoming less petrified and nervous and more friendly.

"Hrm. Okay." They reach the door of a small house, Clark taking note of the "Andrews" on the letterbox. He rubs his head, feeling a bit awkward and then removing his mask, "Erm. I felt that it'd be rude to wear it indoors." He speaks, still trying his hardest to be stoic.

"Ha. Ya know. Besides the red-eyed devil thing… you're not very good at being scary." The man remarks while unlocking his door, "Let me guess, small town boy trying to make a difference in the big city?"

"Can't divulge that information to you."

"Fair enough." The door clicks open, "Come."

A 30-something-year-old woman opens the door, her black Afro hair tied up in a bun. She's dressed in a bathrobe. "Arthur. Sweetie…"

"I know. I'm really late. is- er- Frank Bullitt. Frank. Virginia. Virginia. Frank."

"Like Steve McQueen?" Virginia chuckles, noticing the massive crater left by the shotgun blast left in Clark's Kevlar gear. "A cop, I presume. A cop named… Frank Bullitt."

"Er. Yeah." Clark replies.

"Well. A friend of Artie's is a friend of mine. Come in." Virginia steps out of the doorway, Arthur and "Frank" following in.

"He's here to see Cassie."

"I thought they said they weren't able to do anything." The woman says.

"Well, Frank's a good friend of mine. He's gonna see what he can do." Arthur looks to Kent, "Upstairs then."

* * *

**Cassie's Room, Upstairs**

Clark Kent sits across from Cassie Andrews, looking into her eyes as she begins to tell a story. Her face is heavily scarred, the right side of it covered in burns and her iris a milky grey. Her hair is a bright ginger, the left side of her face covered in freckles. Tears are already beginning to roll down from her eyes. "So I just cut his hair… and we… we hit it off. We were making fun of each other, he was really charming. We just had a nice… y'know… flow with each other." She stops for a moment. "So I got finished with it and he pays me. He stops. Asks me if he knew who he was. I said no. Then the guy just leaves. So that's the last I think I'll ever see of the guy." Gulping for a second, she looks up at the ceiling.

"Miss. Uh." Clark pulls a packet of tissues from his pocket. "Here." He passes them to her.

"Thanks." She wipes her eyes. "So a few days later… it's Christmas morning- you probably heard of this on the news- or somewhere- but a guy dressed up in a Santa suit knocks on our door and gives everyone a free phone. The- the Luthorita C. People were lining up for days for that thing outside the Lexcorp stores but… turns out they were all getting one for free. Everyone in the city got one. On the box was this big picture of that same guy I'd cut the hair of a few days earlier.

So a couple of days later… when we'd reopened after the holidays, he rocks up again." She chokes for a second. "Asks me if I knew who he was now. He offers me everything. Offers for me to move in with him and run away with him, money… and… I say- oh f***, I'm an idiot- I say yes."

"Hey. It's okay."

"Thanks, mister. But it's okay. But I was… I was dumb. So I stay with the bastard for 10 months. He gets abusive. He gets distant. He gets manipulative. I cut myself off from him. But you see- no one-no one cuts off Lex Luthor. A whole ton of pictures of me… indecent ones… "leak" out on the Internet they day after I break it off. The entire world sees me. And… that phone that everyone got… it has it built in so that it sends you a notification each time Lex posts something on Facebook, Twitter… anything. So I'm getting sandblasted from all over the place. Then. When all of that dies down… a guy comes up to me at work and throws some stuff in my face… all I remember is… just… the burning. Screaming. The pain."

"Did the cops-?"

"Cops wouldn't do sh**. He owns the cops. He owns the media. He and all those other guys. Nobody could help me. No one can. So. I- uh- I appreciate what you're trying to do to help me here, Mr. Bullitt. It's just… it's pointless."

"You're wrong." Clark leans back in his seat. "Got a pen?" Cassie reaches over and hands him one, he writes down his number and name, "Here. Name's Clark. Clark Kent. I'm a journalist. If you ever need anything...give me a call."

"Thanks, but-"

"Cassie." The Kansas boy cuts her off. "I'm not going to stop until you get justice. I promise you that."

* * *

**Two Minutes Later.**

Clark exits the room, Arthur standing there waiting for him, Kent looks to the man, "I… I understand. I know what Luthor did to you and to your daughter… but I can't in good conscience let you walk free. I'm going to trust that you'll hand yourself in. They'll easily find evidence anyway if you don't."

"I- I know. I'm sorry… for everything."

"But I promise I'm going to help you and your family."

"How?"

"I don't know. But I will. I ensure you." Clark says with the utmost sincerity.

* * *

**2016, A Thursday in January**

**Ross Corn Farm, Smallville**

"You paid Luthor a visit that night. Surely. You had to have. Clark, if you didn't, I'm going to kill you." Lana speaks for the first time in 20 or so minutes.

"Of course I did. I had my mask on, red eyes, everything. I was going to scare him. Put the fear of God into the guy, y'know?"

* * *

**A week ago,**

**LexCorp Tower Far North Metropolis**

Alexei Luthor stumbles into his office drunk out of his mind. His arm and legs sway back and forth, two beautiful young women on each side of him, kissing his neck. He giggles, his left shoe falling off as the two drag him right into the bedroom.

All of a sudden he stops. "Ladies. Stop. You go in there and wait." He gets to his feet, straightening out his posture, fixing his cuffs. Luthor pats his hair down, his voice becoming lower and more serious in tone. "Well. Hello there."

The Bullet sits across from him in Luthor's chair, behind his desk, hiding in the shadows. "Alexei Luthor." Clark's eyes grow red.

"That's me. Hold still for a minute." Luthor pulls his Android phone from his right pocket, taking a picture of the shadowed figure and posting it on every social media outlet possible. "Those are some nice contacts you have there."

"Cassie Andrews. You ruined her life."

"I'm sorry, are you her new boy-toy?"

"You publically shamed her and then threw acid in her face."

"I didn't do any of this… I hired people to do it for me. But still- what proof do you have?"

"Listen, buddy-"

"No. You listen, cupcake." Luthor marches up to the Bullet. "Look at you. A man in a mask with a chip on his shoulder trying to scare me with some dumb contact lenses. What're you going to do, arrest me? Take me to the police with that dumb sock over your face? No self-respecting member of the MCPD is going to trust a masked man over the most respected and valued man in the city. In fact, nobody will." He pauses. "Quick lesson. Basic Logic 101 here. Wearing a mask makes you seem like you've got something to hide. That's dangerous. That's scary. Look at me. I'm out in the open. My life is plastered all over the walls in this city. I'm an open book, you see. What, are you trying to scare ME with that mask? I assure you, I've seen worse. Much worse."

"It's not about scaring anyone. It's about justice."

"JUSTICE!?" Luthor laughs. "Justice? I am Chief Justice in this town. And the mayor. And the commissioner. And the police force. I am the media. I am the jury. I am the people. I am God. And do you know what it took to get here?" Lex pulls a spare Luthorita C from his pocket and throws it at the Bullet. "Just one of these. You can keep it. I don't get the feeling that you know who I am. Not well enough. It's basically my ongoing autobiography."

"You're wrong," Clark shouts. "I know exactly who you are. You're the diseased maniac who destroyed the life of an innocent girl. You're the leech draining the heart of this city. You're nothing but a bully. And I'll be watching you very, very closely. You don't know who I am… but you're about to." The Bullet removes his mask to reveal Clark's fresh, slightly scratched and bruised, farmboy face. He stands to turn his head and to melt the handle of the window, swinging it open. His feet push against the ground, Clark propelling himself into the air. "Look out for me."

Lex watches in awe as the man magically flies away, uttering under his breath "Diseased maniac? What is that?"

* * *

**2016, A Thursday in January**

**Ross Corn Farm, Smallville**

"And that's why I'm here. Lana. Pete. You were right about me going it alone in the city… being a dumb… vigilante. Wearing a stupid mask. I realise now that these people don't need fear… not even diseased maniacs like Luthor. They need hope. And I can't give them that hiding behind a mask, trying to scare people. We can't." Clark stops for a second. "I want you to come with me to give them that. To Metropolis. Like you wanted to in the first place. These people think they're Gods, they think that they can walk all over and manipulate and oppress people. It's time we used their weapons…" Clark lifts up the Luthorita C Lex gave to him, "...against them. It's time we made a difference. Properly. By fighting against injustice."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

"I have a way."

* * *

**A Month Later,**

**Southside, Metropolis**

Clark carries three boxes, all stacked on top of one another, into a building all three of the old friends from Smallville have leased, Pete walks behind him, struggling to carry just one of them. "Showoff." He remarks.

The two meet Lana, who has already set up their phone on the ground floor, as well as one of the offices. She smiles at them, "Are those the last ones?"

"Yeah." Pete groans placing his last box down. "Thank God."

Lana scurries over to Clark, who lays down his share of the last few boxes too, she has something in her hand. "The cards came in the mail." She shows him a handful of them, "We are now all official members of the'Call Kal' organisation."

The cards read 'If you ever need help, just give us a call!' An address and the name of the organisation also are printed onto the cards. Lana continues, "These also came in the mail. Uniforms… which you informed neither of us of." She lifts up a clear plastic packet which contains three blue shirts with a yellow and red "S" shield printed onto them. "What do the S's stand for?"

"Southside, of course. And Smallville. Gotta rep, Lana."

"It's kind of a corny… flashy design."

"Maybe people need a bit of corny. Bit of whimsy. Bit of fun."

Pete jumps in, "I know a way we can have a bit of fun!" A bottle of champagne is in his hand, as well as three glasses.

"Here. Here!" Lana shouts. Pete pours the liquid into each of the three glasses. "To Southside."

"TO SOUTHSIDE!"

"TO SOUTHSIDE!"

"To Southside! And Smallville!"

A loud barking is heard from outside, Clark chuckles, "Shoot. Aha. How could I forget the superpowered alien dog? Be right back, guys."

* * *

**Epilogue-**

**2016, a Friday Night in January**

**Kent Farm, Smallville**

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Clark Kent makes his way right to the very end of the field at the outside of his childhood home, marching his feet through the snow. At the end he finds his parents, gazing at a crater in the ground filled with green rock, slightly hidden by a thick layer of snow, Clark looks to his parents, "I'm sorry… about everything. How I've been for the last few months."

Martha pats her husband on the back, "I know, son. And I forgive you." She leaves, "I think you two need to talk. Alone."

"Dad, I-"

"Son. When we found you and that dog in this crater and decided to take you in we knew what we were getting ourselves into. Setting ourselves up for. You found who you were, son. You found your real family. You wanted to go to that thing up in the mountains. You found your home."

"No. Pa. I didn't. I found history. I found my heritage. My planet, my- birth parents- all of em are long dead. I found that- in search of my home… I ended up getting farther and farther away from it. Jor and Lara. They gave me life. And I will be eternally grateful for that. And I will honour them until the day I die. But you guys, you're my mom and dad, you're my family. You raised me. And kept the dog...which was a really sweet thing to do. I'll be a Kent up until the day I die." The two embrace, snow beginning to fall once more.

"I love you, son. Now you be careful out there, alright? You, Pete and Lana."

Clark nods.

"And take Krypto too. He's a pain in the ass without you around."


	2. #supermanexists

**21ST CENTURY**

**SUPER-MAN**

**NUMBER ONE:**

**#thesupermanexists**

**A DC REDUX JOINT**

**TYPED UP BY JOEY WEST**

* * *

**11AM, A Friday in July**

**1929 Feet Above Ground**

**Lex Luthor's Penthouse LexCorp Tower, Metropolis**

Slowly, hazily and painfully falling through the thick, eggshell white painted walls of a hard drug and alcohol fuelled sleep, eighteen-year-old ex-Disney kid, Harmony Faith reaches over the King-sized bed she lays in and through the impossibly soft 1000 thread count bedsheets, expecting her hand to meet the warmth of the insanely wealthy man she had shared the night with. She only meets what feels like a glacier of ice compared to the cushioning and comfortable heat she had generated in her long, uninterrupted sleep.

Causing the sheets to roll over each other, her back throws itself up and onto the ebony bead board, giving her a full view of the room at daylight. Her perfect, shimmering blonde hair rolls down hair spine like a smooth tide, pulling everything north towards her head, which she obsessively scratches and rubs. A beautiful verdant green set of eyes roll around twenty-five-year-old billionaire Lex Luthor's bedroom. It becomes apparent to her pretty quickly that this is the real Andy Warhol museum and the building in Pittsburgh which claims to be is one big fat lie. Dollar signs, revolvers, cows, a couple of Mao Zedongs and a number of Marilyn Monroes stare at her as they hang on the walls like a group of fancifully painted deceased criminals. His wardrobe WAS white until he decided to get his hands wet and finger-paint it with about a thousand different shades of red which you would only be able to tell if you gave it a good, long look.

Her feet hit the thick fur of the ivory white bear rug, both of them sinking in and almost becoming invisible within it. After a few moments of inspection, she notices a plush Winnie the Pooh head crudely stitched onto the piece of fur in place of a real bear's head. Harmony puts one foot in front of the other and repeats the process, travelling past the transparent glass door (noticing a "foggy glass" button which connects to it) and into the library, which is the next room from the bedroom.

A complete change in aesthetic takes place as while the bedroom was more of a modern art project, the library takes shape as more of a wooden carving. Her finger follows along the lone but massive and sprawling bookcase. The books have no specific order, not alphabetical by name or author. No specific pattern. "Thus Spoke Zarathustra", "Capital and Other Writings", "The Complete The World At Will and Representation", "Nineteen-Eighty-Four", "The Long Hard Road Out of Hell", "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" and "Northern Lights" all stand together, some in hardcover form and some in paperback. The smell of incense spreads throughout and grows stronger as Harmony walks into the next room.

Harmony pushes past the tall mahogany door and into the next room on floor 163 (of 164) of LexCorp tower, which sits empty but for a record player, which at this moment plays "Otis" by Kanye West and Jay-Z, which echoes throughout. The walls are painted a solid matte black, the floor a set of large white tiles. A mockingly tall, thin but super-strong glass window curves over the room into the ceiling and stands at almost 15 feet tall. Alexsei Luthor stands looking down directly at his iPhone, naked and bare above the entire city of Metropolis. Miss Faith heads toward the man, the white tile floor freezing her heels with each step she takes. She rests her right hand on his chiselled from stone, unbelievably muscular abdomen and plays with his long(ish) ginger hair with her left. Smiling at him, she asks, "Whatcha looking at."

He lets off a mumble which sounds vaguely similar to "shut up", her eyes then leering over his shoulder and down at his phone, where he scrolls through his Twitter feed. All of the tweets seem to have the same hashtag and be about the same subject.

" **Dirk S Nighy**

**DkSeedisNigh**

_TheRealLexLuthor Told you the end times were nigh and you didn't believe me. Now a man is flying #thesupermanexists_

**Jim Bradester**

**AwShietBradee**

_Superheroes are real now. Gonna be top bants. #thesupermanexists_

**The Daily Planet**

**DailyPlanetNews**

_Anonymous superhero stops plane crash in Metropolis. #thesupermanexists_

**Leah Moore**

**LeahMoore**

_Dad's response to superhero stopping plane crash and in the process hundreds of lives: it's all bullshit isn't it? #thesupermanexists #shitdadssay_

**Maxwell Lord**

**MaxLord**

_So glad that so many people got to keep their lives today and owe a great debt of gratitude to the hero who made it happen #thesupermanexists_

Luthor's dark eyes painfully lift themselves up from his touchscreen and onto the Metropolis skyline. The sky is turned into a rich, sparkling gold as the sun awakens and begins to climb out of its own slumber. It's clear. Too clear. _There should be fire. There should be brimstone. There should be ash. There should be chaos_ , the billionaire thinks.

His eyes wander down again, his thumb scrolling down a bit until reaching one tweet.

" **Jimmy Olsen**

**JOlsenDailyPlanet**

_PWhiteDailyPlanet LLaneDailyPlanet I gots the shot. Behold: The Super-Man_ _#thesupermanexists_ "

Below is an instantly iconic image of Metropolis's new Man of Steel stood like a Titan. His shoulders are lifted high, his chest is large and put far out, a massive red and yellow "S" shield stretched across it. His shirt is a dirty white, the right corner of his chest partially burned and torn. Both sleeves are cut short to reveal his massive biceps which look stronger than the most dense of metal alloys. Thick climbing gloves coat his hands, scratched and worn on their first day on the job. All of these elements jump out to Luthor at first but it's his face that has an effect. The boyish features, the farmer's look in his unnaturally bright blue eyes. The obsidian black hair. The way his face fits when he's determined. It's the demon that visited him all those months ago. The flying demon. His own personal Mephistopheles that won't stop knocking on the door and now Lex has to answer. For the first time in a long time, fear runs through Alexsei Luthor's bones.

A loud, annoying beep sounds off from Luthor's iPhone, the screen becoming a blindingly bright white and then a cool, deep sea blue. Bright, hot pink text appears on top of it, reading "Just a minute, guys. Sorry for the inconvenience." This is signed off with a golden "S" below it. Alexsei stares down at it in confusion.

* * *

**MEANWHILE**

**Call Kal HQ Southside, Metropolis**

"Alright, this is it… you cannot f*** up now."

"I know that, Lana… and language, please."

"No. You don't understand, you CANNOT screw this up, Clark. This is live. This would've been so much easier if we'd just pre-recorded it like I said."

"Well- the thing about recording it live is… yeah, you were right. Boy, I'm really nervous."

"Oh god. I made you nervous. Don't be nervous. Nervous is bad. Nervous doesn't give us a good image. Nervous is scared little kid who doesn't know what to do with his superpowers."

"No. Don't you get nervous. You getting nervous is making me even more nervous."

"Shut up. We're almost ready." Pete Ross shouts from behind the "camera", the camera being an 118kg man of ambiguous age with a cybernetic eye called Cave Carson. He wears a straw cowboy hat, which is slightly worn and dirty, a red and black plaid shirt and badly torn jeans. Long, greasy ginger hair bleeds from under his hat, leading to a badly kept beard which grows from his reddish, wrinkled mouth. Above sits a regular looking nose and a regular looking left eye. His right, however, looks normal without inspection but has a noticeable red dot in the centre of the pupil which will never leave you once you see it. It's cybernetic. Nobody knows how he got it and nobody has ever asked. Nobody knows where it came from or how he lost his old eye. And nobody ever asks.

A USB cable sticks out from the side of his head, which is connected to a MacBook, which shows Clark Kent standing in front of his office, which Lana had neatly laid out a day earlier in preparation for this. Cheap lighting which looks semi-professional hides off-screen and beyond Cave's camera eye's lense. Pete laughs, "It works. It actually works. Aight, Cave's eye-camera is now ready to broadcast on every smartphone in Metropolis."

"Alright. Alright. Alright." Cave speaks in a low but enthusiastic tone.

"How does he look?" Lana asks.

"Handsome," Cave replies until Pete rudely interrupts.

"No. He's just trying to be "nice and cool Cave Carson". He looks like crap. Put on the makeup."

Lana quickly pulls out a box of makeup from her handbag until Clark pushes her hand away, "No. Can't be wearing makeup. The whole point is that we're the Everyman. Looking like a weird smooth androgynous thing is gonna make people freak out that I'm an alien."

"Yeah about that, you sure you wanna let it slip?" Lana asks. "It seems like something they're gonna freak out about makeup or not."

"Well. People are going to ask for an explanation as to why I can juggle boulders. May as well be upfront about it."

"Not to freak anyone out but you guys do realise we've held every phone in the city hostage for over two minutes now, right?" Cave cuts in.

"S***." Lana jumps out of the way of the camera, "Alright. Don't screw this up."

"I'm not gonna mess it up!" Clark shouts in a slightly whiny voice. "Okay then. Lights. Camera. Action.

"Alright. Alright. Alright." Cave remarks, pressing the enter button on the MacBook. "Broadcast begins in 3. 2. 1."

* * *

**11PM • LAST NIGHT**

**Lucky House Chinese Restaurant Southside, Metropolis**

"Thanks." Clark Kent, in his Kal-El guise, dressed in a red zip-up hoodie and a clean and ironed white T-shirt with a massive S-shield stretched across the chest area, graciously speaks as he grabs a rectangular translucent white bag full of cases of Chinese cuisine from a high counter.

"Enjoy." The girl behind the counter smiles, Clark smiling back and looking into her eyes for a moment until his closest friend (and usual straight man) snatches the bag from his hand and quickly responds to her.

"We will." Pete breaks in, tugging on Clark's jacket, almost dragging his friend out of the Restaurant.

"Have a nice evening!" Clark quickly blurts out as he's pulled out into the freezing cold of the Metropolis night. Southside's near-arctic chill bites both of the men, both of them instantly becoming mesmerised and lost in the pink lights and white smoke of the place. They have been working to make a difference here for a few months now but still are struck by the place every time they step their foot outside of the door. It's smoggy, it's messy, it's grimy, it's dirty but it has a kind of charm within it that the group cannot place. In a way, it reminds the two of Smallville. Everybody knows everybody, and despite the poverty and crime rate, it feels strangely friendly. People of all shapes and sizes greet the two on their way back to their place of work, some are alcoholics, some are drug users, some are gang members and some have done unspeakable things but they all acknowledge that the people at Call Kal are just trying to help out, which is why they have become off-limits due to unofficial street rule.

The two friends walk in relative silence until Pete's head cocks up in confusion just as they reach the Southside Train Station, turning to "Kal" and asking, "Wait. Why were you making gooey eyes at Cho?"

"...am I not allowed to do that?"

"I thought you and Lana were playing the "on-again, off-again", "will they, won't they" kinda game."

"It hasn't been that way for a real long time."

"Nah, really?"

"Not since like before we left Smallville," Clark says as he leans down to put a dollar in a sleeping homeless man's cup.

"You seriously haven't noticed?"

"So what the hell was the flirting and the play fighting and the hugging when you were doing the dishes last night?"

"Um… just some friendly hugging."

"She tore your shirt off."

"Yeah. As a joke. We're a trio of 20 to 21-year-olds living in an apartment on a wacky adventure to save Metropolis, we pull pranks on each other. We have a bit of fun. We weren't exactly going to do anything while you were sitting right over there-" Clark points to a random direction. "-in the apartment, were we?"

"Do you do the nasty when I'm not home?"

"What!? No! Gee, Pete, what do you think we are, animals!?" Clark pauses for a second. "Can we not talk about this, please? Let's talk about something else."

"Alright. Why did we go to this Chinese place? Happy House is so much better." Pete whines.

"Because Happy House is really expensive."

"Because it's better."

"Well, not to tell you what to do with your life but maybe if you got a job, we'd have some more money to spend on stuff like take-out and movie tickets."

"So I'm supposed to manage our "non-profit organisation" AND get a job on the side?"

"That's what I and Lana are doing… and Cave… no idea where he gets his money from." Clark loses focus but bounces back again. "It's the whole reason why I have this secret identity thing."

"Yeah and I still don't know why you're doing that, it's not like anyone cares who Clark Kent OR Kal-El are. Besides, people are gonna find out eventually, all you're using to disguise yourself is a pair of glasses, slightly different hair, and a little bit higher voice.

"Hey. It's worked so far. Somehow. And people are going to find out about the alien who's faster than a speeding bullet eventually. I think I'd instantly get fired if my boss found out I'm an alien… which means even less disposable income for us."

Pete looks distracted, Clark's face scrunching up a bit until his friend says, "Hey. What's going on…?"

A stampede of police cars and ambulances quickly head in their direction and begin to circle the block. An African-American police officer with a pencil thin moustache jogs over to them, Clark beginning to notice other police officers knocking on doors and heading into the train station, rounding everyone up and leading them out. The officer speaks, "Excuse me, we're going to need you to come with us into one of these ambulances."

"Uh. Of course. Could you tell us why?Clark asks nicely.

"Um. Yeah. Why?" Pete asks in a not particularly respectful manner.

The officer sighs, "Look. All we've been told is that some rich kid has gone crazy and is going to kamikaze his jet into the station. We're doing our best to evacuate the area. Now please, would you head over to one of those ambulances, they'll take you safely away from the area."

Pete begins to walk, Clark staring at the sky, watching the blood red and sterile white lights of the jet edge closer and become slightly larger and brighter. He then looks at the people being rushed out of their homes, the legion of homeless men and women being slowly hoarded out of the train station. All of these people are going to either lose their homes or even their lives… and that makes Clark furious. He removes his red hoodie and hands it to Pete, as well as the contents of his pockets which include his phone, his keys, and his wallet. He also pulls a pair of climbing gloves from his back pocket and puts them on. "Hold these for me."

"Cl- Kal. What are you doing?"

"Something that may or may not succeed… but I have to try. These people aren't going to make it in time. I gotta do something." Clark's tone becomes more serious, his shoulders broaden, his chest becomes larger. "Alright. Update the Daily Star Twitter page, not having the Planet beat us to this story… uh… make sure Lana and Cave are safe and… uh… try not to throw up."

"You're not thinking of-" Mid-sentence, Clark zips away, grabbing everyone in the area two-at-a-time and utilising his super-speed to evacuate the area faster than an entire army of police officers and ambulances ever could. It takes about two minutes to get everyone, a blurry red-white light-show effect being created as he runs as fast as he can to get everyone out of the area as a precautionary measure. Lastly, he grabs Pete by the chest, taking less than a second to drop him off with the rest of the people he had evacuated a few blocks away. Pete instantly starts to gag. He returns to right next to the train station, looking back up.

Using his enhanced vision, his eyes zoom far into the sky, confronting the mean face of the jet before his feet press deep into the crackling tarmac below the soles of his shoes and then launch him into the air at 800 miles per hour, his body clashing, contorting and wrapping itself around the nose of the private jet just a moment after launch.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. He breathes quickly, terrified. Heart rate is going faster than it ever has. Both eyes are locked shut, Clark having to muster up the courage to open his left to see how many people are inside the jet. Only three. _Thank God_ , he thinks. Only three.

Digging the tips of his fingers into the jet, he drags his body up, fighting against the air and wind, to the side of the jet, looking down to see how close it is to the ground. He breathes a sigh of relief. _Still got time._ Once there, with his thumb, he pushes himself back a bit and then crashes his shoulder through the walls and into the flying vehicle, quickly grabbing a chair so he can stand. Two of the passengers lay pressed against the door which leads to the cockpit of the plane, one trying to attack the other but being hindered by the air pressure. He takes another breath, letting go of his balance and allowing himself to fall and grab the two men, break through the door, pull the pilot in and smash straight through the nose of the plane. In mid-air, he swiftly turns all three of them over, allowing his back to take the damage and shock from the harsh landing, saving the lives of all three men.

A rush of pain spreads up into his spine as he lays in the crater he created, his teeth gritted. All three of the men stare down at him, perplexed that their saviour survived. He climbs up to his feet, which is no easy feat, but he manages. Looking up into the sky, the jet's mean face is intimidatingly close. He doesn't have the strength nor time to fly back up and attempt to catch it or reroute it. _Okay. This is either genius or really, really darn stupid._

A literal fire brews in his eyes, a blurry line of heat beginning to launch into the sky, hitting the nose of the plane. _No. I need more heat. Come on!_ He clenches his fists. _Come on!_ Blood pours from his nose. _Come on!_ His feet break and bury themselves in the ground. _Come on!_ A fury builds and bursts from within him, consuming him. Every face he's ever seen in Southside echoes throughout his head and doesn't stop. The thought of any them either dead or hurt makes his fingernails bury themselves in his palms, drawing his own blood. For the first time, Clark Kent knows what rage is. For the first time in his life, Clark Kent sees red. "COME. ON!"

**KA-BOOM!**

A pure white flash.

**KA-BOOM!**

The jet stops in mid-air.

**KA-BOOM!**

It is completely eviscerated.

**KA-BOOM!**

Grey and white ash fall from the sky like snowflakes, Clark wiping the blood from his nose as he smiles. _And the day… is saved._

* * *

**11AM, A Friday in July**

**1929 Feet Above Ground**

**Lex Luthor's Penthouse LexCorp Tower, Metropolis**

Lex intensely glares down at his phone as the once blue screen turns to a solid black and then to a live broadcast. The flying demon which visited Luthor all those months ago stands in the centre of the frame, smiling with a sincere look in his eyes. He wears a blue T-shirt with an S-shield printed onto it, with a silver pendant hanging around his neck and going down under the shirt. He stands in front of an office, which is neatly tidied but obviously very cheap.

He speaks with a southern tinge in his voice. "We are so sorry for the inconvenience. We'll make this quick. We weren't even going to do this but we knew you'd all have questions." He takes a breath. "My name is Kal-El, I'm a superpowered alien from the planet Krypton. When I was very young, me and my puppy, Krypto,-"

"My puppy and I," Lex mutters under his breath. "Moron."

"-were sent to this planet, Earth, following the destruction of our own… where a kindly couple, who shall remain nameless, discovered me and raised me as their own. Now I've decided to give back to the people that took me in with open arms. I, along with my friends, run a non-profit organisation that helps the people. Whether it's someone threatening you or a simple act like helping you carry your groceries, we'll be there for you. We've been helping Southside out for a while now but it's about time we started to help out the entire city of Metropolis. Just Call Kal at-"

Lex lets out a loud groan, knocking Harmony off of his shoulders and throwing his mobile phone through the 15-feet-tall window, which shatters. "GET OUT!"

* * *

**12PM, A Sunday in July**

**Call Kal HQ Southside, Metropolis**

Pete, Kal and Cave all sit in a circle around Lana, who leans against Kal's desk. She reads off from a list on her Android. "Okay. So. Pete you know you've got to put up a fence for Mrs. Schneider in like 5 minutes, right?"

"Yeah. It's only like a two-minute walk from here."

"Alright. Clark. Kal. Sorry. You've gotta find the mayor's dog, which shouldn't take long cause you'll be taking Krypto with you."

"Well. If I know what the dog looks like. Did he send a picture?"

"I'll ask for that. Cave. You're on receptionist duty for the day."

"Alright. Alright. Alright."

"...and I've gotta fix Mr. Jones's engine. Engineering for the win..." She looks up from her phone. "...and we all gotta be back by 2 though because we have that interview with Miss Lane from the Planet at quarter past."

"Noted," Kal says. "I've got no assignments for the Star so I'll be available all day after the interview thing."

"Sweet," Lana says. "I've gotta be at work for 6 but before then, I'll be free."

"I…" Pete attempts to break into the conversation.

"You don't have a job, Pete." Lana cuts in. "We know you're available all day."

"Mhm."

"Then I'll keep you all posted if anything comes up," Cave speaks.

"Well, alright then."

* * *

**1PM**

**Castle Gardens Northern Metropolis**

A snowy white wolf-dog with a bright, bombastic red collar turns to bark at his master, the new Super-Man of Metropolis, Kal-El of Krypton… or Clark Kent as the dog knows him. Next to him sits a slightly confused looking chihuahua, who becomes even more mentally disoriented after spotting the floating man who descends towards her. "Good boy, Krypto." Kal turns to the chihuahua, "Hey, Precious. How about we take you home?"

He then pauses and then looks into the distance, checking on something, he then looks at his watch and mutters under his breath, "Still got time."

* * *

**Rog's Hair Place Suicide Slum, Metropolis**

With a ding-a-ling of the bell, Kal-El of Krypton bursts through the door of Roger Slevitch's barbershop, a chihuahua in one hand and a Kryptonian companion dog in tow. He looks down on Alexsei Luthor, who sits on a luxury chair, his face being shaved through traditional blade technique, with nothing but contempt in his eyes. Krypto, the super-dog, begins to growl. Prescious, the mayor's chihuahua, lets off a high-pitched bark. Kal speaks, "Think it's time we had a talk, Alexsei."

* * *

**End Chapter**

**Stay tuned for more chapters in this series! While you're at it, check out some of the other DC Redux titles in this bold, new universe such as Batman: Knight Errant, Green Lantern: The Book of Oa, The Flash: Incandescent Legacy, Green Arrow: KIA or Wonder Woman: Man, Woman, Bullet, also written by Joey West!**


	3. #Boom

**Rog's Hair Place • Suicide Slum, Metropolis**

The nauseatingly strong scent of disinfectant hits Kal-El of Krypton first as he enters the dragon's den (or at least the place where the dragon goes to get his hair trimmed). The whole room shares an artificial smell which rises from the open jars of hair dye, gel and wax and parades into one's nose like a flash mob. Offsetting this essence is the wonderful stench of wet dog, which sits right under Kal's nose as he handles the mayor of Metropolis's soaking wet chihuahua with one hand and holds his snowy white alien wolfdog's lead with the other.

Across the room sits Alexei Luthor, billionaire celebrity, whose face is half-covered with shaving cream. His eyes flick themselves to Kal-El, a certain suppressed worry building within his pupils. Above him stands Roger Slevitch, who has been cutting Lex's hair since before he can remember. Metropolis's new Super-Man takes a seat next to the billionaire, nicely commanding the two dogs to sit in the corner and politely asking Cassie Andrews, an old friend of his who was already petrified by her ex-boyfriend's sudden appearance earlier in the day, to give him a trim. Her scarred face lightens up, she wipes her tears from her cheeks and heads over to him, wrapping a black sheet around his neck. El speaks, "I've been watching this place for a quite while, Lex. Waiting for you to show up. If you have any sense, you're going to leave right now."

"What are you going to do? Force me, farmboy?"

"How do you-?" Clark freezes. _Darn it. He knows. Pete was right. Darn glasses._ "How did you find out?"

"Find out what? How did I pick up on that obvious southern twang in your voice?" Kal quickly breathes a sigh of relief. _False alarm._ Lex continues. "And your… body. You haven't been working on the glamour muscles… or maybe not working for it at all. You've been living your entire life doing manual labour… chores… whatever. You're a corn-fed farmboy."

"Well. Impressive. You know. I found out a few things about you in the last couple of days."

"Oh. Really? From who?"

"A good friend of yours called Rudy Jones."

"That nut who tried to crash his private jet in the heart of Suicide Slum? I wouldn't listen to him." Lex sarcastically remarks.

"Turns out you blackmailed his pilot… threatened his family… and made him try to crash the plane. Why?"

"In this hypothetical situation of which I'm guilty of all you have accused me of, Rudy was, simply put, starting to grate on my nerves AND the train station, as you've probably seen, has become a cesspool of criminals and junkies. So. Hypothetically. I would've been trying to knock two birds out with one stone."

"Needless to say, you'll be hearing from the police."

"Got any evidence? Any witnesses?"

"Yeah. Three, actually."

"Tomorrow James Krolo and George Ouellette will come forward and say the truth about Rudy Jones. How he had been feeling depressed for the last few months. How they had seen it coming. How he overpowered them and tried to kamikaze his jet into the city." Lex pauses as Roger finishes up on his face and removes the sheet from around his neck. "Or. They will die."

Clark chuckles for a moment, Lex giving him a knowing smile, causing Kal's smug face to fade. Luthor grabs Cassie, Kal's eyes beginning to grow red as he watches the man snatch Cassie's phone from her pocket. "I know you told her to record every conversation she had with me. God, El, do you think I'm stupid enough to share this information with you and not cover my own ass?"

"Hands. Off. Her."

Luthor draws himself away, putting his arms up, the mobile phone still in his left hand. He drops it, lifting his left foot and smashing it to pieces with his heel. "You know this little game of ours? There's no way you're going to win."

"Game? You think this is a game? Playing with HUMAN LIVES is a game!?"

"Look, kid, if I were actually playing serious with you- you, your little hick friends down at the "overly naive Millennials foundation", Cassie here and the entirety of this damn place would all have been blown to kingdom come by now. In fact, they almost were. But I like what we've got going here. Just to humour myself… I think I might just keep playing along." Lex says through a painfully forced smile, "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go. Big meeting."

As Luthor begins to walk out, Krypto begins to bark, the man almost jumping out of his skin. Just as he reaches the door, Kal stops him. "Lex." He says. "You know I could hear your heart throughout the entirety of that big speech you just gave me. And you know what it's telling me? You're talking complete bull. You're scared as all hell right now. And you know why that is? It's because you… deep down… you know what would happen if I were playing seriously with YOU."

Alexei Luthor slips through the door with nothing to say, Cassie smiles as she holds Kal's shoulders. "Thanks for showing." She pulls the black sheet from around his neck and clears a few excess hairs from his forehead. "All done. Seemed like you showed him, huh?"

"Yeah. But I implied I was gonna incinerate him… kinda feel bad now." Kal-El of Krypton says as he rises from his seat.

"He doesn't deserve your pity."

"Probably not."

"Definitely not." She cuts him off as she hugs him. "Thank you so much, Clark."

"It's just my job… one of two, actually. Speaking of, when I'm- not wearing glasses- could you call me Kal instead?"

"Uh. Sure. Why?"

"I- uh- I got a secret identity now."

"The glasses are supposed to hide your-? Y'know what? Forget it. People are crazy and times are strange."

"...I'm locked in tight, I'm outta range…" Kal sings, egging her on to continue. A redness made of embarrassment begins to form on Cassie's scarred face until Clark taps her arm, encouraging her.

"...I used to care but- things have changed…" They both share a moment of silence as they just look at each other until Cassie breaks it, "Uh. My lunch break starts like now… want to go get a coffee?"

"Coffee? Coffee sounds good." Clark turns to the corner, the two dogs sniffing each other's rear end. "You know any coffee places that allow multiple dogs on the premises?"

"We'll find one."

Kal claps his hands, Krypto standing and Precious trodding over to him, he picks her up with both hands. They both open the door and are greeted by the peculiar sight of a long, green tunnel staring right at them. _Hmm?_ Clark thinks. His eyes follow the massive green tube until they reach the end of it, _Is that… is that a tank?_

"FIRE!"

It is, in fact, a tank.

**BOOM!**

Cassie closes her eyes, within a few moments feeling the sudden need to vomit. The explosion seems quieter now than it did before. She feels something furry and warm in her hands. Opening her eyes, she recognises it, the chihuahua Kal had brought in earlier. She turns, she's across the street from an epic action set piece from a superhero movie. Metropolis's Super-Man turns to her as he lifts an armoured car up and tips it over, he smiles, _thank god for super-speed_.

For just a moment he begins to survey his surroundings. _Alrighty then. Five armoured cars. One tank. Fourteen soldiers. Two are already down for the count. Shouldn't be too hard,_ he hopes.

In this moment of distraction, he does not notice the heat seeking missile barrelling through the air towards him. His right hand manages to block the explosion but he is still sent flying onto his back and into a nearby car. A rough haze comes upon him until something warm, wet and sloppy begins to run across his face. Then a bark. Krypto's white fur brushes against his arm as the dog steps over it. _Oh. Yeah. Of course._ Groaning, Kal-El of Krypton struggles to his feet, laughing and smiling. "Krypto." He coughs. "Go get em."

"Rrr." The dog growls, almost as if he were answering his master's call for help. A couple of soldiers begin to chuckle and laugh until the dog begins to float and his eyes turn a bright red. Like a kamikaze jet, Krypto fires himself into the barrel of the tank, tearing the vehicle in half, grabbing two soldiers by their clothes, dragging them out and dropping them face-first onto the hard concrete below. He then circles back, flying into the wreck of the tank and knocking the two remaining soldiers within out cold by head-butting them.

As Kal recovers, he is attacked by a soldier with a rather long beard and a rather big stick. _Huh?_

SMACK!

CRUNCH!

It breaks against Clark's head. _Well. Ouch._ He flicks the man away. _Alright._ He thinks as he notices an armoured car heading towards him, a man atop the vehicle firing at him from a turret. At over 900 miles-per-hour, a fleet of bullets at a time clash against his chest and abdomen, tearing his shirt off from his skin. _See, Lana?_ _That's why we bought spares._

His arms swing backwards and then forwards into a massive clap, creating a massive sound wave which rips what's left of his shirt away and into the front of the armoured car. _Always wanted to try that out._

He catches his breath, counting the remaining men. _Five more. 3 cars._ Filling his lungs with air, he concentrates for a moment until leaping into the air and throwing his weight down into the engine of one armoured car, completely trashing it. Before he can call the animal, Krypto has already arrived and shot through both windows of the vehicle, knocking both men inside unconscious.

The dog zips around the air for about two seconds until beginning to float next to Kal, who clenches his fists and watches both of the remaining cars drive at them. "Okay. Alright. Erm. Plan. Need a plan. Alright. I take one- you take the other." He says to the dog, whose eyes give his master a look of confusion. "Of course. What the heck am I doing?" He points at Krypto and then one of the armoured cars, and then himself and the other car. His pet gives a growl of understanding and charges towards one of the cars, while Clark begins to launch himself at the other. The wind breaks as they move faster than the speed of sound.

"AAAAAAAA!"

Krypto barks.

"AAAAAAAAA!"

Krypto barks louder.

* * *

**2PM, A Sunday in July**

**Call Kal HQ • Southside, Metropolis**

In the blistering, boiling heat of a Metropolis summer, Pete Ross stands, sweating like a pig and panting like a dog. Both hands rest on his forehead, desperately trying to shield his eyes from the impossibly bright white sun to no avail. A waterfall of sweat runs from his head and down the tip of his nose, a drop releasing from a ball of liquid building on his nose every few seconds. He's waiting. Searching for a friend. A friend who happens to be almost late. He would go inside but another friend, Cave, is currently having a hard time fixing the fan they had bought and broken a couple of days ago. It's worse in there. Lana Lang calls from inside, "Can you see him!?"

"Nope. Can't see him."

"What!?"

"Said I can't see him."

"Can't hear you, come inside!"

"Hell no."

"What!?"

"Ugh." He groans, opening the door and slowly walking back into what he expects to feel like the burning centre of the sun. What he really experiences, however, is a cool, much-welcomed breeze. "Seriously? You could have told me that you fixed the fan."

"Sorry. But did you see him?"

"I said "no" like twice."

"No, you didn't." Lana bounces back. "He didn't, did he, Cave?"

"Erm. Actually, I heard him." Cave smiles, trying not to upset Lana.

Lang screeches, "God! He's gonna be late for his first interview!"

"Technically not his first."

"No. This isn't Clark Kent pretending to talk to Kal-El for the Daily Star! This is real! A good reporter for a good newspaper is going to pry as much information as she can from him and… and- tear him a new one! I know it!"

"Look. Just calm down."

"No! I can't calm down!"

"Cave, tell her to calm down."

"Lana, could ya chill?" Cave rudely yet politely asks.

Lana begins to calm, "Yeah. Okay."

"You chill?" Cave asks again."

"Yeah, I'm chill."

"By the way, I'm telling Clark that you said he's not a good reporter." Pete cuts in.

"I didn't say that!" Both Pete and Lana break into an argument while Cave sits, looking confused and out of place. Someone pokes their head through the door, mouthing, "Is this a bad time?" to Cave, who smiles, shakes his head, signs her to come in and clears his throat at the two growling animals.

"WHAT!?" Lana and Pete shout almost in unison.

"Reporter's here."

"Oh." They both whisper in unison this time. One after the other, they turn their heads to Lois Lane, ace reporter for the Daily Planet. Her eyes are green. A bright, verdant green. They hit the two first. Her black hair is tied back, but for a few hairs on her temple, which lead to a few badly hid freckles on the side of her face and a pair of glasses with black frames. She gives the two an honest yet condescending smile, which adds to the feeling of smallness her impossible height already gave the gang. "Miss Lane, is it?"

"Yep. And whoever said Clark Kent is a bad reporter, I agree with them."

Lana scurries over, "Uh. Speaking of. When you called us up I have to admit, I was kinda confused seeing as Mr. Kent already conducted an interview…"

"Yes. I read that. Seemed a bit- I don't know- artificial. I'd actually like to talk to him if you have his number."

"Really?"

"I mean if that's okay."

"Uhm. Sure." Lana pulls her mobile out, reciting Clark's phone number as Miss Lane types it into her own phone.

"So where's the big guy?"

"Sorry. He's running a little late."

"That's fine. I'm running a little early."

Pete begins, "Uh. Please. Take a seat."

"Thanks." She sits, pulling up Clark Kent's phone number on her Android and tapping the 'call' button on the touchscreen. As she does, a storm of rage, frustration and madness bursts through the door. Kal-El of Krypton. Stripped down to his denim jeans-turned-shorts. Soot and ash coat his bare chest and arms, dust falling like rain from his hair. Krypto follows behind him, his snow-white fur having become a murky grey.

"Kal. What the hell happened!?"

"Well… uh…" His phone begins to ring. Pulling it out from his pocket, he looks at the number and then to Lois Lane, who sits looking at him with her own mobile phone to her ear. She then looks up at Kal, detecting the blaring sound of his generic ringtone. Pulling her phone from her ear, she looks down at the name, "Clark Kent", and then back up at Kal, giving a knowing smile. "Aw jeez."

She taps the red "hang up" button on her touchscreen, Clark's ringtone cutting off. She laughs. "Hi, Mr. Kent."

"Oh dear. Uh. Miss Lane. Come with me into my office… please?"


End file.
